


5.2 - Neverender

by Ambellina (goodapolloimburningstariv)



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: 5.2 Spoilers, Also may Ben Irving have a horrible day this one's for you bro, Anxiety, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Gen, Murder, One Shot Collection, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Self-Hatred, The Author Regrets Everything
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-02-08
Packaged: 2018-09-22 19:39:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9622652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodapolloimburningstariv/pseuds/Ambellina
Summary: Malavai Quinn's return was a happy one, for the first day or two. However, upon closer inspection of the datamined dialogue, a lot of extremely horrible implications started to appear.That's all this collection is: an attempt to highlight, through fiction, just how cruel certain parts of this reunion really are.





	1. I Have Waited Years for This

**Author's Note:**

> Male or female - romanced or not, the Warrior is undoubtedly Quinn's main purpose in life. Killing him now, after everything, so many years after the fact, is the real betrayal.  
> If it's not already clear where I stand on this, let it be known forever and until the end of time itself, that I will never accept a universe where he's not alive, safe, trusted, and love.

Please, don't think of Quinn, as he faces his final moments:

His life, about to be ended by his very reason for living.

It feels like it was a lifetime ago. He really thought he’d become a better man than he was on that day.  
He must have been mistaken, for who is he to argue against his Lord?  
He knows he most certainly deserves to die, he just didn’t know they would agree so vehemently.

He doesn’t have it in him to fight, not really.  
Dying by the hand of his Lord is already far more than the likes of him deserve.  
The decision’s been made.  
A decision he understands, perhaps even better than the one carrying it out, for no-one is haunted by his actions more than he.  
All he can do is accept.

In a distant corner of his mind, between the building panic and the crushing hurt, he is ever so slightly relieved.  
That realisation doesn’t frighten him as much as he knows it should.  
Perhaps if he was given longer to register what was happening, it would be more than just a whisper of a feeling, but his mind seems set on working against him.

As he hears the lightsabre cruelly spring to life, one simple, quiet thought, quieter than all the rest, provides unexpected solace:  
“What would the alternative be?”  
He would be dismissed, given but one final order, forever condemned to naught but the company of his own mind.  
He’s already lived that life, for six years, eight months, and twelve days.

Six years, eight months, and twelve days. 

As the former Wrath moves in, only one things exists;  
the knowledge that he has failed them.  
Now, things will never be set right.  
In a better life, things would have gone differently.  
He would have been able to help, one last time.  
  
He didn’t save anyone.  
The Wrath saved themself.  
He accomplished nothing. 

Now, they will never know, how hard he tried.


	2. The Trick is to Keep Breathing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I read through the part where Quinn attacks you, and not only is that possibly the most horrible thing of all time considering who we’re dealing with, it was also most certainly planned in advance as a just in case. Add to that the fact that there's no way Acina wouldn't know their history, at least in part? Everything is terrible to such an extent, that I barely even had it in me to proof-read.

”Do you understand your orders, Major?”

“I… Affirmative, Empress.”

“I need to know that you will be able to carry them out. She is still your wife, after all.”

There they were… Those dreaded words - the severe burn they left on every one of his senses.  
When going through the briefing, he had almost been able to hide it away, make it a tiny bit less real, pretend.

Pretend, even if he knew that was all it was, that the Commander of the Eternal Alliance, possible future enemy of the Empire, was someone other than his wife.  
If she could even still be considered that. He had no earthly way of knowing, and no-one to blame for that particular hurt but himself, and his own blasted cowardice. It almost seemed like hoping was overstepping his bounds, especially now when that hope might be snuffed out, so close to the end.

“I truly can’t say,” was all he could think to offer in response, stunned by the truth as the colour bled from his face.  
It had scarcely occurred to him that the ghost of his relationship was not the part that held interest - perhaps a testament to the illness currently spreading within. Unfortunately, this slip-up in his otherwise natural professionalism was noticed before he could right himself;

“No. I must know that you are capable of doing what is required by the Empire, regardless of personal history.” Acina turned on her heel to face him, laying her full attention his way. What would normally have been a great honour instead made his stomach churn, every pitiful emotion no doubt written plainly for all to behold.  
“I have no reason to doubt where your loyalties are, or you wouldn’t be here. But the fact remains that the former Wrath has clouded your judgment in the past, even before the added implications of the ring you wear.”

It was all coming back. What had been over two years in the making before, was playing out all over again, only now in the span of barely minutes.  
Once again, all he could do was look on from afar, as his own mind tried to claw its way out.  
Just like last time. Caught between here and the days of it all.  
The words might have been falling from the lips of the Empress, but they took form as the voice of Darth Baras, echoing every syllable, every wrong sound, every point that he was afraid to face.  
Just like last time. 

“If the stars are kind, none of this will even be necessary.”

Wait. Baras would never say something like that? The perversity of it all made his hairs stand on end.  
He needed to breathe, to remember. Baras was dead.  
But why, then, did every utterance make him shiver under the weight of its familiarity?

“There is every chance that she is not the woman you knew.”  
Baras or Acina? Why was it suddenly so hard to tell?

“She has proven that she is not above extending sympathy to the Republic. Her right-hand man, in fact, an SIS agent-“  
Baras or Acina? He needed to know, with a clammy, fatal urgency, but the absence of answers was deafening.  
“-who knows where she stands now. I know this contingency may seem cruel, but it is not, however, unwarranted. Major; we cannot afford to lose.”

And then, there was nothing. The screams died out. Fever faded, birthing shame.  
How easily he was willing to crumble under the volume of his own weaknesses. Disgusting.  
He needed to be a man worthy of the uniform gifted unto him, always, and the promises it meant.  
Besides, there was a heavy truth in those words that still lingered in the air, regardless of who might have said them.

He was a man of logic, and Baras was dead.  
Every puzzle had an answer, every door a key, and while he might not be an imaginative soul, it didn’t take much to see where the Empress was coming from, nor the wisdom on whence it all was built. After all, she would know, with far more authority than he, which direction today might take.  
After all, she had been face to face with his Lord just a precious few months ago.

If only he could say the same. Had he only been so fortunate, perhaps he would know.  
There was comfort in absolutes, but he suddenly knew no certainty could exist.  
Not in this, not now.  
If there was even a chance that she could side against their Empire, could she still, truly, be considered the same woman he once loved?

Six years. Eight Months. Twelve days.  
Who could say how many different roads his love had walked in that time – and in what direction?  
Every night, they’d strolled together amongst the stars.  
Waking up was always the same, his flesh cold where just moments ago, her touch had rested so gracefully.  
Every morning, he had choked on the realisation that those faint whispers of longing might never come to pass.  
Not once had he considered the notion that it would be because they shouldn’t – that her path could have changed to one he did not wish to follow. 

Perhaps, it would all be justified in the end.

All at once, his hesitation tasted ashen.  
  
_He owed Acina more than anyone could imagine._  
  
Not only for finally seeing him free, but for granting him another chance at life… a purpose.  
One that revolved around so much more than simply reliving his one biggest failure, and seeing it grow even larger and away from him every day he still drew breath. The Empress counted on him, when she didn’t have to, when no-one had to – when having his freedom was already so kind.

A decision, then?  
As if it had even been a choice at all.  
The Empire stood above all else.  
Should it prove necessary, he would be ready to act as his Imperial heart demanded.

“Of course, Empress,” he finally said, bowing deeply before leaving the room, determination renewed. 

 

He was about to cross the corner leading to his quarters, when his legs gave out without warning.  
His brow furrowed in annoyance, as he scanned the corridor for imperfections of the sort, that could explain him suddenly being on the floor.  
Nothing. Every line as straight as ever, every bit of surface angled just so, and not a single thing out of place.  
As he lowered his gaze in defeat, he saw it.

He was shaking, profusely.

He knew it had every right to alarm him, but he surely felt no different, the sensation almost appearing old.  
How long had he been walking around like that, without so much as noticing?  
He brought a hand to his face, in shock as much as thorough wonder, still set upon by the icy tremors.  
His nose was bleeding. 

Whatever spell had been cast was dissipating rapidly.  
He remembered now. Seeing her – he remembered.  
It was all wrong. Every word of it.  
Even just her silhouette, always and ever so far away, had been her. He knew her, had always known her.  
To doubt that, even for a second, would be like denouncing his own heartbeat.  
He should have understood that, back on that day. Were she to deny him, then so be it.  
Nothing would be sweeter than following her into battle once more, lover or no, and he was a fool.

But there was still the matter of his orders.  
The Empire.  
His life’s work, his every belief.  
Would he be strong enough to walk away if it came down to it?  
Truly leave it all behind?  
Be known as a traitor once more, and even worse, actually have it be true?  
Was his Lord worth the Empire? Was the Empire worth his Lord?

His communicator beeped angrily from his pocket, almost as if passing judgment.  
No doubt, it was to let him know, the Commander had arrived.  
He was out of time. 

“My love,” he whimpered into his hands, as he at long last permitted his body the collapse his heart so craved, “Please, make the right choice.”


End file.
